


Antonio Evens the Score

by fiftysevenacademics (rapiddescent)



Category: SHAKESPEARE William - Works, Twelfth Night - Shakespeare
Genre: Biphobia, California Gold Rush, Casual Bisexuality, Casual Sex, Gay Male Character, Gold Rush AU, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Male Homosociality, Pirates, Theft, Victorian Attitudes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-23
Updated: 2015-04-23
Packaged: 2018-03-25 11:25:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,849
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3808588
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rapiddescent/pseuds/fiftysevenacademics
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Antonio is Orsino's right-hand man in the mining camp of Illyria. Until Orsino meets Olivia.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Antonio Evens the Score

**Author's Note:**

  * For [afewreelthoughts](https://archiveofourown.org/users/afewreelthoughts/gifts).



> This was written for afewreelthoughts on Tumblr for the first Bard's Birthday Exchange, responding to the prompt: “Twelfth Night. Sea battle between Antonio and Orsino.” 
> 
> I decided to set this in the [Twelfth Night Gold Rush AU](http://fiftysevenacademics.tumblr.com/post/114509862635/runecestershire-nodeadhotspurjokes-okay-so-im) that nodeadhotspurjokes inspired me to imagine, based on the following story Antonio tells to Sebastian in the play:
> 
> I do not without danger walk these streets.  
> Once in a sea fight ’gainst the Count his galleys  
> I did some service, of such note indeed  
> That were I ta’en here it would scarce be answered.  
> Th’ offense is not of such a bloody nature,  
> Albeit the quality of the time and quarrel  
> Might well have given us bloody argument.  
> It might have since been answered in repaying  
> What we took from them, which, for traffic’s sake,  
> Most of our city did. Only myself stood out,  
> For which, if I be lapsèd in this place,  
> I shall pay dear.

On April 21, 1850, a burly, bearded Italian who called himself Orsino, and his employee, Antonio, discovered gold in the gravel of a creek that fed into a lake near the western foot of the Sierra Nevada mountains, about 130 miles east of the San Francisco Bay. He named his claim Illyria and within a couple of months, hundreds of men had arrived from all over the world to try their luck. By the end of the following year, several thousand fortune hunters had erected tents all along the lakeshore and staked claims up every gully in the surrounding foothills. A rapidly growing town called Illyria-- 150 buildings and counting-- sprang up on the other side of the lake.

Of all the claims in Illyria, Orsino's were the richest. In addition to his original claim, Orsino had secured three more claims along the creek. He was no fool, and hedged his bets against the uncertainty of mining by selling water from the lake to the nearby camp of Hangman, which was bone dry. He and Antonio shared a small, but sturdy, pine cabin with real glass windows and a stone fireplace. They were rich, and everyone called him Duke Orsino.

When Antonio sailed across the lake to pick up supplies and drink in one of the saloons, he liked to brag that they scooped gold nuggets out by the shovel full and sweetened their coffee with gold dust. When he drank, he had to hunch his lanky frame over the bar to speak to the man next to him, and as the pink flush of whiskey spread over his cheek, his voice would soften at the mention of Orsino.

"I may only have a 25% interest in our claims," he confided, "but I'm Orsino's right hand man. He can't do a thing without me." 

If he had already been drinking a while, after this, he might slur, "And he loves me." Usually his newfound drinking partner responded with a hearty slap on the back and a tipsy, "Ain't that a friend!" But sometimes there was an awkward pause and Antonio would amend, "Like a brother. He loves me like a brother, and he'll always look out for me."

If he wasn't too drunk, he'd sail back across the lake with their provisions and supplies for the month and haul them in a wagon up the hill to their cabin. Orsino helped him unload them, and they'd enjoy more whiskey in front of the fire, Orsino reading the Bible or books about geology, and Antonio sitting at Orsino's feet so he could poke the logs with a metal pole, just to watch the sparks shoot out, until he fell asleep against Orsino's shin.

Sometimes, Orsino peered up from his book and found the fingers of his other hand twined in Antonio's hair. He looked cherubic, and his hand crept of its own accord toward Antonio's rosy cheek, which his thumb stroked until Antonio's eyes fluttered open and lifted to meet Orsino's. A slow smile lit Antonio's face as he rose, and kissed Orsino's lips as his bare feet padded by. Orsino heard the thunk of his belt on the floor and the rustle of canvas sliding down his legs and flung off his feet. He heard a bed creak and knew if he looked around, Antonio's would be empty. 

"Just this once," he told himself every time, as he pulled back the covers and took Antonio into his arms.

Late one cold, windy February afternoon in 1853, Orsino and Antonio gathered several bags of gold nuggets and dust that they had accumulated over the winter into Antonio’s sailboat and shivered as they sped over the rough water to town. A well-known man who ran 500 head of cattle wanted to sell them and move back East, following the death of his wife. Orsino had arranged to meet the rancher to buy his herd. Miners were hungry men and fresh food was hard to find. Orsino hoped to convert his limited supply of gold into a steady flow by trading it for beef.

The man was so despondent, he had abandoned his cabin on the range and moved into a boarding house in Illyria until the stagecoach to San Francisco arrived in two weeks, leaving the cattle to fend for themselves. When Orsino and Antonio arrived at “Olivia’s House”, a trim, energetic woman met them at the door. She was dressed entirely in black, aside from the stained apron around her waist, with a big hoop crinoline and black hair held in a simple, elegant chignon with pomade and a single long hairpin, embellished with jet beads, as for mourning. In spite of this, her brown eyes were lively, and her red lips curved sensually as she spoke.

“I’m Olivia. Will y’all be needing rooms then?” She had a light, musical voice with a faint Georgia accent, and was wiping her hands on her apron while she talked.

Orsino held his hat in his hand, like a gentleman, and Antonio felt acutely aware that he wore no hat at all.

“No, ma’am. We’re here to see Mr. Anderson.”

Olivia finished wiping her hands and rested them on her hips. She squinted, and inspected them with her head cocked to one side.

“Is he in trouble?”

“No, we’re here to buy his cattle. I’m Duke Orsino. He’s expecting us.”

This seemed to satisfy Olivia. She moved to one side so they could pass through the door and guided them up a stairway, past several doors in a hallway, and knocked at the last one. A voice answered and Olivia shouted, “Mr. Anderson? There’s a Duke Orsino here to see you.”

Antonio noticed Orsino staring at the nape of Olivia’s neck, where a few tendrils of hair had fallen out of their knot and nearly obscured the mole that held his attention, as they listened to feet shuffling across the floor and waited for the door to open.

It took longer than either of them had expected to hammer out the details. Most of the time was spent trying to get an accurate description of where it was, exactly, that the cattle ranged. Several wads of paper illustrated with failed maps littered the floor near Antonio’s chair. But at last he had drawn what, as far as any of them could tell, was a map accurate enough to guide them to the cabin and find the herd. They agreed on an amount, wrote up a bill of sale, and shook hands. By the time they were done, they smelled supper drifting up through the floorboards.

“Why don’t you stay for supper as my guest?” Mr. Anderson invited.

Orsino agreed too readily, and paused to slick back his hair and smooth his moustache in a hallway mirror during the descent to the dining room. As the seats around the long plank table filled, one by one, with the freshly scrubbed, sunburned faces of hardworking men on their best behavior, Orsino’s eyes followed Olivia going back and forth to the kitchen, ladling stew into bowls and setting baskets of bread still warm from the oven in several places. Antonio was too hungry to notice. After dinner it was dark. All the rooms were full, but for a few flakes of gold, Olivia gave them a couple of quilts from her own room and let them sleep on a pile of flour sacks in her pantry.

As Antonio wriggled into the pile in an attempt to find a comfortable position, Orsino said, “I want you to take as many men as you need to and go round up that herd. Bring ‘em in and count ‘em. Get that ranch up and running, then come get me and take me there.”

A month later Antonio and two of his helpers returned to Orsino’s cabin through a flurry of snow that did not stick anywhere except to their horses’ manes. An ominous pile of crates and canvas sacks sat in front of the cabin and as they approached, Antonio recognized his bedframe. He tied his horse to a tree and banged on the door.

“Orsino! Let me in. What has happened?”

Orsino opened the door, but did not move to let Antonio in, nor did he speak.

“What’s the meaning of this? I’ve come with news of our herd.”

“Of my herd, Antonio. My herd.”

“Orsino! My dear friend. Please let me in. Whatever has happened, we should talk about it away from them,” he gestured to the other men, still waiting on their horses.

Orsino relented, and let Antonio enter, closing the door behind him.

“Let’s get this straight. I am not your friend. I _was_ your employer.”

The sentence went through Antonio like a pickaxe.

“Was?”

“Yes. Your things are out front.”

Antonio tried to swallow the panic rising in his throat, and his voice sounded strange.

"Why?"

"I need the room for a piano." 

Antonio wondered if he heard correctly.

"A what?"

"A piano. For Olivia to play." 

Only now did Antonio look toward the empty corner of the room that had been his and see a large charcoal portrait of Olivia, drawn in Orsino's own hand.

"I'm in love with her and I will marry her," Orsino said.

Something like rage congealed into a hard ball in the pit of his stomach.

"Has she agreed?"

"Not yet, but she will."

"You can throw me out, Orsino, but I still own 25% of the business."

"You do? Do you have that in writing? Do you have a notarized agreement?"

They had only ever agreed to Antonio's share in conversation. Antonio's fists flew up, but Orsino caught them before they connected with his face and held them against Antonio's struggling. 

"You bastard! I lo—,” he checked himself before the word spilled out. “I trusted you."

Orsino threw Antonio's hands down and shrugged.

"I am rich, but to win Olivia, I will need to be richer. And I can’t have you around."

He returned to the door and held it open, gesturing toward Antonio.

"Goodbye, Antonio. I'll have one of the hands take me to the ranch."

Antonio stormed out the door. He picked through his pile of belongings and selected his most important gear, loaded them into his sailboat, and glided off across the lake.

********************

Cicadas covered Antonio, sitting in the shade of a live oak tree, with a blanket of sound that shut out everything else. Dry grass appeared to shimmer in waves of heat that rolled up the golden hillside. He regarded a scrub jay foraging a few yards away and his stomach growled at the thought of food. His last piece of hardtack had been yesterday’s breakfast, and he was trying to make his last stick of beef jerky last by only allowing himself to nibble at it every few hours. The drainage in which he had found a few gold nuggets and staked his claim had been reduced to a mere seep. He had to ration water, too, and without water, it was impossible to pan for gold and the long tom was useless. He laid his head back against the trunk and looked up at the cerulean sky, peeking through the leaves. It was only August, and they were still months away from rain. A small, wiry man, who had joined him in his quest for gold after he left Orsino, emerged from his nap in their canvas tent with a disgusted look on his face.

“We’ve got to do something, Antonio. We aren’t finding gold, we don’t have food. We don’t even have enough water. If you’re just going to sit here until we starve to death, well, I’m thinking of setting out on my own again.”

“I’m sorry, Tom,” he sighed. “I wouldn’t blame you if you did. I’m close to giving up, too.”

“What about that guy who owes you money? If you can get what owes you, we can lay in some provisions and hunker down here till the rain comes.”

“Orsino?” Antonio snorted. “I’d have better luck turning that rock over there into gold than getting gold from him.”

“Who said anything about him giving it to you?”

“He needs killin’, but I’m not the man to do it. I couldn’t pull the trigger even if I wanted to. And besides, that’d put me in a whole heap of trouble that I just don’t need.”

Tom sat down next to Antonio and rested his back against the tree trunk.

“Well, maybe you don’t have to kill him. Maybe you can get his gold some other way.”

Antonio was scratching the dirt absentmindedly with a stick, and didn’t reply at first, but gradually, bits and pieces of inspiration that might eventually grow into a proper idea, filtered into his head. Over the course of the evening, their plan took shape. Before dawn the next morning, they hiked out of the mountains and down to the raucous camp along the lakeshore, where friends greeted them with slaps on the back and plates of beans, and listened to what they wanted to do.

“Oh, I’d be happy to join you,” one of them said and another nodded in agreement. “Duke Orsino’s gotten too big for his britches lately, tryin’ to impress Miss Olivia. He’s got men working on adding rooms to his cabin and hasn’t paid them for weeks. He bangs away on that piano while everyone’s working and then has some of his hands come here with bullwhips on Friday nights to try and settle us down so he can court her in peace. He wears a silk top hat and a fancy fur coat when he goes into town and won’t say hello to ya’, even if he knows ya’. But he’s no better than any of us, and we oughta teach him a lesson.”

It took a couple days of waiting and watching. Antonio mended the sail on his boat, which he had left chained to a dock in the care of his friends, and scanned the water and lakeshore for signs. He had been told that Orsino still traveled into town by boat, although it leaked and he frequently seemed to struggle with the sail, and that he went there often to visit Olivia. When Antonio finally spotted him, bailing water while his sail luffed, he gave a whistle and Tom and his other friends came running. Tom leaped into his boat, and their friends into another that they had borrowed. They raised the sails and tacked hard into the wind on a course for Orsino.

When Orsino saw the two boats racing directly at him, he stood up in the boat and waved his hands, shouting something they couldn’t hear, and motioning them to turn away. They did not slow down, so Orsino frantically trimmed the jib and mainsail and bore portside to avoid them. His boat lurched forward, nearly knocking him over the side, and glided away from Antonio’s group. Antonio swung around toward port in a large arc that brought him back once again in a collision course with Orsino. The other boat approached him on the starboard side. Orsino had only a small window between the boats, and slapped at the rudder to direct himself toward it, but did not allow the sail to shift enough to hold the breeze. The sail flapped helplessly and his boat stalled as Antonio brought his boat alongside it, joined almost immediately by his friends.

“You!” Orsino shouted. “What the devil do you think you’re doing, Antonio! Get out of my way!”

Tom and the men in the other boat held Orsino’s boat steady while Antonio leaped into it with catlike grace and a pistol in his hand. He raised the weapon and seized Orsino by his expensive silk cravat, holding his face at arm’s reach.

“Is that any way to greet an old friend, Orsino?”

The other men lashed the three boats together, and boarded Orsino’s boat, too.

“See what he’s got, boys!” Antonio ordered. He held Orsino at gunpoint while they searched his pockets and parcels and packets.

“I don’t want _your_ kind of _friendship_ , Antonio, even if others do,” Orsino sneered, tilting his head toward the back of the man who was rifling through a burlap sack. Antonio slapped him on the mouth hard enough to split his lip. He lowered his voice.

“Oh, you wanted things from me. I gave them to you. And now I’m taking something back.”

Tom held up five small canvas sacks and shook them with a whoop. “Hooowee! Loaded with gold! And it’s all ours now!”

His friends began to climb back into their boats and untie the ropes joining them, but Antonio lingered to undo Orsino’s cravat and strip it from his neck. His top hat gleamed on one seat, slightly damp from water spray, and Antonio picked it up. He tied the cravat in a knot around his neck, placed the hat on his head, and tipped it toward Orsino with an elegant flourish as he stepped back into his boat and sailed away.


End file.
